Monday Bloody Monday

Monday Bloody Monday

No one likes Mondays. There have been many a work day missed, many a productive hour wasted and a plethora of swear words spoken in the small hours of this bastard of a day. Even songs have been written about how people go loco on Mondays. Boomtown Rats anyone?
The sound of Caribbean kettle drums filled my ears. Well the tinny digital imitation sound of Caribbean kettle drums emanated from my mobile phone alerting me to the painful fact it was 5.30am. Bloody Monday.
My rust coloured Rodhesian Ridgeback friend was poking his eyes over the edge of his oval shaped bed to see if I was actually going to get up. His tail started thumping slowly then increasing in tempo not unlike the “encouragement clap” fast bowlers get in One Day Cricket matches. Bloody Mondays.
I got up, threw some clothes on and headed to the back door flipping the switch on the electric jug as I passed. He was already there performing his two spins and sit, then repeat dance routine. I clicked open the latch and he launched himself into the backyard mid spin. Back in the kitchen the jug had boiled. I combined too much coffee with too much sugar with not enough hot water and attempted to even it all out with milk. Bloody Mondays.
I looked out the back window. As the caffeine began to jolt around and awaken my insides I saw my fur coated companion stop, squat and evacuate his bowels leaving a steaming hot number two on the dirt. There use to be grass but endless possum chasing saw an end to that. I slid my feet into a pair of slippers, Yeah slippers, cheap warm slippers similar to those worn by the Honorable Abe Simpson. I headed out to the back shed. With shovel in hand I commenced the daily ritual known as Poo Patrol. While scooping up the mornings deposits I attempted to balance it on the shovel. I turned to make my way towards the compost heap when my slipper slid. Yes, it slid…in shit. 5.45am, coffee not yet kicked in fully and already stepped in dog shit in my slippers. Bloody Mondays.
I scrapped off his organic gift and gave the slipper a wash. I headed back inside. What’s the last thing you want to hear do you think? That’s right. Your partner pissing herself laughing at you for stepping on a dog made landmine. For everyone’s benefit and wellbeing she ran to another room to continue laughing but not just in my face. Bloody Mondays.
To continue with my fine day I shit, showered but didn’t shave. After this mornings efforts I wasn’t putting a 70 cent disposable razor anywhere near my throat.
I grabbed my bag and made my way to work. A warm windy Spring morning ensured the pollen was flying about thick and fast. By the time I got to the warehouse my nose was blocked, then dripping then back to being blocked again. My eyes were watering and my throat felt like it had a permanent scratch down it. Welcome to Heyfever Country.
Bloody Mondays.
At my job I can’t avoid being outside. As long as their isn’t lightning hitting the ground within one mile I am out there. It still beats being stuck in front of a computer or on a production line all day long. I was stacking palletised stock as I unloaded it from the semi trailer. I spun the forklift around and was on my return to the truck. I had my mouth open as I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I had no line of defense as a fly entered my mouth on a kamikaze mission towards my stomach. I hit the brakes. I could feel the filthy little insect in my throat. The Truckie was staring wondering why I had stopped working. I kept my mouth open and with a half cough half dry wretch I sent the fly and a wad of bile and mucus on a rapid decent to the concrete. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, turned to the Truckie and said “Bastard Flys”, he replied “Yeah pricks of things aren’t they” and with a raise of the eyebrows we went back to work. Bloody Mondays.
At the end of work I punched out and drove home. As I came in the front door my girlfriends shadow was charging my way. Her shadow is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and is all muscle and excitement. She rears up on her hind legs and whilst at the perfect height slams both her front paws into my balls sending me to to the floor in the fetal position. Bloody Mondays
I told my girlfriend about my day since her giggling at me when I was on Poo Patrol. She suggested we take it easy and grab a pizza for dinner. This was the best thing I had heard all day. As we began to eat she started laughing at me again. Not in the mood for any shit I glared at her and boomed “What??”. With a look of pity on her face she replied “Your nose is bleeding”. That was it. I was done, beaten, defeated. I didn’t have the energy to yell, laugh, cry or smash anything. I tore a piece of my paper napkin off, rolled it up and shoved it up my right nostril and continued eating my pizza. With laughter still coming from the other side of the table I simply waved the white flag of surrender. You just can’t beat Mondays. Bloody Mondays.